What We're Given
by Patricia de Lioncourt
Summary: Sequel to Alone and Last Chance. Lacroix just doesn't know the meaning of the word no...as Tara is all too quick to find out...
1. Prologue: Free Will

A/N- Finally, the chapter fic that follows "Alone" and "Last Chance." If anyone cares to know, I've named this series the Second Chance Series. I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer- I don't own Buffy; that belongs to Whedon. I don't own Forever Knight; that belongs to Columbia Tristar and its creators. This applies to all chapters.

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"_We are in the same boat."_

--Pope Clement I

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**Prologue**

**Free Will**

There were two things that Tara Maclay was instantly aware of: first, she was on some cold, metal slab in the middle of a room she did not recognize, and second, she was completely nude. Her memories were vague and coming back in small snippets. She remembered the warm sunlight on her face…Willow's bright smile and her hands sweetly pulling her into an embrace…and pain. She remembered pain.

She suddenly became of a third thing. There were voices in the room just beyond, two of them. One of them she didn't recognize, but she still thought it sounded odd. It was a male's voice, but it was strained…not natural and almost like he was under some sort of spell or hypnosis. But the second voice, she did recognize. And she was not happy. Because, in the back of her foggy mind, she knew she should not be awake in this place or even in this world. And she knew, now, that this other, velvet and regal voice was to blame.

He entered the room, ever dressed in black, smiling coldly back at the other person that was still out of side. Tara instantly sat up, pulling the white sheet, a fabric never meant to be comforting or warm. His smile, a little less cold but enough to matter, fell on her now. His hair seemed brighter to her for some reason, but as thin as ever.

"Ah, Tara, I knew you would be awake," he said, slipping through other metal gurneys—with their own white sheets covering bodily forms—to her side.

And in one horrible moment, as she took in the drab, depressing nature of the room—the metal doors behind her, the gurneys, the bodies, the instruments, all of it—she remembered. She had died. Gunshot right to the heart. Where it had come from, she was not sure. But she had died, in Willow's arms.

She began to panic, to heave but she wasn't breathing. She could not feel the air rushing in and out like it should be. Or rather, she could not feel it past her mouth. Her lungs were not expanding, and, more importantly, her heart was not beating.

"Lacroix…" she said to the man standing beside her as he put a hand, meant to be reassuring, on her bare back. "What did you do?"

She did not need the answer. She already knew. But she was not forming any other thoughts at the moment, and she was badly fighting the urge to repeat the question over and over again.

"I was barely in time, if you must know," he said, also very aware that she knew what she was now. "I couldn't let such talent as yours go to waste in death. You had mere moments of life left when I gave you my blood. I saved you."

Now she glared at him, feeling an anger that was not completely her own well up inside of her. She wrapped her arms around tighter the cloth concealing her, digging her nails into her arms.

"_Saved_ me?" she hissed. "I told you _no_. I said no! How…h-how could you?"

"Now, now, dear. I've already told you. You have a great power stifled deep within you, and it would have been wasted in death. And, as I'm sure you'll understand as soon as you are back to your senses, I had to leave you for your friends to find you," he said, taking his hand away, and she was glad for it.

She did not like the feeling of wanting to rip it from him. Tara pulled her legs off the gurney, still covered, and stood. She shook her head.

"My friends? They…who found me, Lacroix?"

He shrugged. "It's of no consequence. And I don't know, really. It was daytime. I had to move fast."

Tara blinked. Again, her mind recalled the sunlight warming her bare skin and illuminating Willow's glorious hair.

"That's right…it was daytime when I died. How did you even get to me without bursting into flames?" she asked, throwing a cautious eye towards the door as she caught the silhouette of the other person Lacroix had been speaking with. He followed her eyes and waved his hand dismissively.

"He's still under my influence. It'll wear off soon, but we still have time. And desperate times call for desperate measures. Heavy, dark blankets can do wonders in emergencies."

Tara sunk back onto the gurney. "I'm dead."

"Yes. And a vampire."

She glared again. Then, her face relaxed as the fact of her undead state played through her mind. Memories of watching Buffy stake countless, nameless vampires played like a slideshow of a family vacation through her head. She shook it away as she placed a hand on the metal to steady herself. If she thought too hard on it, her mind would start to add fun, bouncy music to the scenes. That's when she knew she had thought too deeply. She began to shake her head, slowly, the move growing more and more vigorous.

"No, no, no, no," she muttered.

Lacroix narrowed his eyes at her. "What is it, Tara?"

She began to rock, doing her own form of hyperventilating.

"I'm a vampire," she said, finding herself horrified by saying the word aloud. "I'm a monster."

Lacroix sighed, clicking his tongue in annoyance and rolling his eyes.

"Dear God, not another one," he said, his eyes trained on the ceiling.

He brought them back down to Tara's face. "Monster is a matter of opinion, Tara. Learn that, and learn it quickly."

"B-but…my soul. Lacroix, my soul is gone. I'm a soulless, blood-sucking vampire!"

"Tara, dearest, if you are worried about having a soul…you probably have a soul," Lacroix said, matter-of-factly and not without a hint of laughter.

"…Oh."

Tara tried to process that. She was a vampire and still had a soul? How was that even possible? She recalled, the night before she had died, Lacroix's words to her when she had mentioned Buffy.

"_…I'm an altogether different type of vampire than she is used to…_"

If she wasn't of the bumpy-faced variety, then what was she? She could feel a hunger, an almost uncontrollable, insatiable hunger inside of her. But it was sort of like she had not eaten for two or three days…nothing like she remembered Spike describing the way his blood-hunger was like, pre-ensoulment.

"What am I?" Tara asked. "What are we? We're…different."

Lacroix smiled and nodded. "I'll teach you all about it. But not now. Now, I have instructions for you that you must follow."

"Like what?"

"You must sleep, Tara, for a little while longer. Another day or two…three at the most. Your friends are planning your funeral as we speak. They have to bury you…put you to rest. For their sakes, and more importantly, yours. I'll dig you up that night and wake you," he said, glancing back at the person in the opposite room.

"Sleep? How?" Tara asked, pulling her body back on the gurney.

She was between a rock and a hard place. She was a creature she had never wanted to be, but had no way to correct it. She had been studying magic for years now, and she had, for the last few years, been looking for spells that could restore a vampire's humanity. She had failed. No such magic existed.

So, at the moment, seeing as she was the amateur, she figured doing as Lacroix told her would be best. Just for now. She laid back on the gurney, not yet putting the sheet back where it had been when she had awakened. She should not care about Lacroix seeing her body…but she did.

"His hypnosis is fading," Lacroix said, more to himself. To Tara, he added, "Just close your eyes, Tara, and think of the deepest, most relaxing sleep you have ever had. It'll happen before you know it."

She nodded, closing her eyes as instructed. She felt him put the sheet back in place—at her waist—and was grateful that blushing was no longer an option for her. Then, she was in darkness, but it was not scary. In fact, it was peaceful. Just like being asleep. In fact, she expected a dream any moment now. Instead, she heard the snap of wood being splintered and a hand pull at her.

"Tara."

It was the commanding tone of his voice that made her open her eyes. She was outside now, laying on soft, slightly moist dirt, and staring up at a starry sky and Lacroix—who had a shovel. He tossed it aside and helped her to her feet.

Tara noted that she was in a black dress of a simple design as she dusted the dirt from her skirt. She looked back, reading her own tombstone and finding it very creepy. This must have been how Buffy had felt when she had dug her way out of her own grave. She shuddered.

"What now?" she asked Lacroix, who was almost done replacing the dirt on her grave.

When he finished, he replied, "Now…we leave."

"Leave?"

She had known it was coming. She knew that she could not be expected to hang around Sunnydale, where so many knew and loved her. With Willow…she looked wistfully to the edge of the cemetery.

"Can't I see them all one last time? You know, a look from a distance or something?" she asked.

Lacroix's lips pursed ever so slightly. Then, he shook his head. When he spoke, it was like there was more to his answer than he was saying.

"It…would be unwise. We must leave immediately. I've already made preparations. Come…I'll teach you to fly," he said, holding out a hand.

She eyed the hand, wanting desperately to question what it was he was keeping from her. But, as she took it reluctantly and felt herself lifted into the night sky high over Sunnydale, she knew it was best, whatever the reason. If she saw Willow, she would want to stay, unable to leave her. And staying was not possible…not as she was now.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

He did not answer…he only smiled.

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End Notes: Okay, what did you think? Now, just a little note here. Tara, as far as preference goes, will remain canon. That is, she's still a lesbian, folks. This means, because I really don't feel comfortable trying to write a slash relationship being a straight woman—I just don't know how it works on a day to day basis, and I'm afraid it wouldn't be real if I, personally, wrote it—she won't be paired off. That doesn't mean that pairings won't happen. I currently don't have any planned for this, really, but nothing with Tara. Sorry.


	2. Interlude: Crossings

A/N- Thanks for all the reviews for that first one! I'm sorry for the super long wait on this chapter. I'm still in the process of outlining for this story. And I've been working on finishing up several others. But I have this chapter outlined, so I thought I'd share. Please enjoy!

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**Interlude**

**Crossings**

The night was cold. The light of a full moon shone down on the lonely desert road. The only sounds issuing forth from the dark was the howling of a few coyotes and the distant roar of an approaching motorcycle. Lacroix smiled from his place on the side of the road and glanced down at his watch.

"Perfect. Right when I expected him," he said, moving to stand in the exact middle of the road. He curled up his nose and added, with a soft snarl, "I hate to wait."

He was dressed in his usual manner, all black and neatly causal. His white-blonde hair shone in the moon's light as he lifted his head, ever so slightly, skyward, expectantly. The roar of the motorcycle grew ever closer until, finally, the light of a single headlight fell upon the master vampire. Lacroix held up a single hand, palm up, and the motorcycle came to a screeching, sliding halt, turning sideways and nearly trapping its platinum blond rider underneath.

His eyes wide, the rider—his own curly, dyed hair messy and his black jeans, red shirt, and black leather duster covered in the dust kicked up in the near collision—looked up at Lacroix. Lacroix, for his part, smiled a very small, wry smile and inclined his head in a manner of greeting.

"Hello, Spike," he said, addressing the rider. "I've been waiting for you."

Spike removed himself from underneath his cycle and arched a brown brow that did not match the rest of his hair. He stood his bike beside him, looking up and down the highway, as if expecting someone to suddenly appear and shout, "Fooled you!" When no such person appeared, he brought his attention back to Lacroix.

"Don't know you," he said shortly, blinking his eyes as if he had to force them to focus.

Lacroix tsk-ed and shook his head, sighing.

"They've really done a number on you, haven't they? The Demon Trials are not something to be taken lightly, as I'm sure you've guessed by now. And you've been rewarded properly, I see. A fully intact soul…and a growing insanity."

Spike looked offended at this and took a single step forward, about to tell Lacroix where to get off. However, he stopped, several steps shy of the older vampire and backed away once more. He pressed his forehead into the heel of his right hand and began to mutter to himself, very quickly and quite incoherently. Lacroix smiled again and took a small step forward.

"You know, Spike, you don't have to face her again. The slayer, I mean. I can take you away from here, from Sunnydale, from her. All you have to do…is follow."

Spike's attention fell, once again, upon Lacroix. His lips parted, mouthing unidentifiable words, as he began to step closer to the mysterious vampire who had nearly caused him to wreck his cycle. Lacroix held out a hand, as if to help him move a bit closer, and Spike's hand slowly came up, reaching out.

"Spike, no!" cried a voice to the pair's left.

Both turned, but only Lacroix snarled at the newcomer. Tara took three strides out into the road, coming between her "master" and Spike. She shook her head, sweeping her long, blonde locks in front of her. Spike took a few hurried steps backwards, shaking his head.

"No, no," he said, pointing. "You're not real…you're dead. Cold, in the ground, gone."

Tara narrowed her eyes. "How do you know that, Spike? You left before I was shot."

She looked over her shoulder at Lacroix, who shrugged…only the tiniest bit of worry edging into his eyes. She arched her brow at him, her own way of demanding an answer from her maker. He shook his head, throwing hands into his shrug.

"Insanity can often give one insight," Lacroix said, simply. To Spike, he added, "Pain awaits you, William. If you come with us now, you'll avoid all of that. Wouldn't that be nice? To not be in pain, for once?"

Spike took a tiny step forward, his arm stretched out towards Tara. She closed the distance between them, clasping his shoulder.

"I'm real, Spike, and so are you. And so is your soul."

The wind blew from behind the odd tableau, catching Tara's hair and long, peasant-style dress and blowing them against Spike. He closed his eyes, taking in the scent. When the two parted, he nodded once, knowingly.

"Vampire. Got you too, huh?" he said, with a quick, mirthless laugh.

She smiled at him, nodding. "Despite saying no…yeah, he got me."

Lacroix approached the two, annoyance etching itself deeply into his face.

"Come with us," he hissed. "You could have a family again, Spike. And no more pain."

Spike's eyes found Tara's. She smiled softly, sadly, shaking her head.

"Bad things are coming, Spike. _She'll_ need you. Don't come with us."

Lacroix turned, incredulously, towards his fledgling. With one of his half-smiles, Spike nodded once. He put his back to them, mounting his bike once more. Tara's face burst forth into a triumphant smile, while Lacroix growled.

"Tara," he hissed, "you know…you've _seen_…we've all _seen_."

"We've seen nothing," she whispered, matter-of-factly. "We're not psychic. Just because we can feel what's coming, doesn't mean we can predict exactly what happens. Buffy needs him. We don't. Not now."

"And what if what's coming kills him? Then what?"

Tara did not answer, instead putting her attention fully upon Spike. He kick-started the bike and drove it right next to them. He stopped, holding it upright with one leg, as he withdrew a long, white cigarette. He put it to his lips, producing a lighter as well, and lit it. After a long drag, he exhaled the stale-smelling smoke in his fellow vampires' faces.

"I dunno if this was real or not," he said, sounding himself for the first time in this meeting, "but Willow misses you, Tara. The whole world, nearly, felt your loss. We felt the tremors of it, though. Whole underworld did, as matter of fact."

Lacroix flew forward, fangs bared. "Leave, then, if that's what you want!"

"Wait, what do you mean, Spike?" Tara asked.

Spike only shook his head. "Gotta go, luv. Got some soul-searchin' to do."

With that, he roared away, leaving a very confused Tara glaring at Lacroix. Lacroix, for his part, was no happier than she was.

"And if he dies?" he repeated, demanding an answer.

Tara shook her head, walking very deliberately away from him. "He won't."

"I thought you said we couldn't see the future, Tara?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him, a sarcastic, rebellious smile shaping her lips.

"We can't. However, Spike's a survivor…one way or another, we'll see him again."

With no other words passing between them, Tara took to the skies. Rolling his eyes, Lacroix scoffed.

"Arrogant children," he muttered, before following after her.

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End Notes: Okay, so this is a short update for such a long wait. But I'm trying to work out, still, what exactly I want to accomplish in this story. And although this is shorter than what I originally wanted it to be, I thought that it accomplished what I wanted it to. So, I hope everyone enjoyed it. Here's to hoping I get that next chapter out soon. Please review!


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